


Play Destroy

by sunflowerspaceman



Category: Danny Phantom, Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: And also to Percy for enabling me, Biting, Blood, Blood Kink, Choking, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, DAMN YOU, Do you hear that! It’s my credibility as a writer burning to death, Hair-pulling, I have a cool werewolf au fic with major world building, I wrote this instead, If this becomes my most popular fic I’ll kill you all, Light Bondage, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Rough Sex, Scratching, There’s no tag for clothes ripping, This Is STUPID, Well this goes out to you 7 year old repressed gay me, Why Did I Write This?, You know how if you were gay and watched the ultimate enemy you saw dan and were like, and I think that’s a shame, because I’m STUPID, its minor but it’s there, oh damn he hot, this is the worst thing i’ve ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 18:56:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21378940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerspaceman/pseuds/sunflowerspaceman
Summary: Tord finds a strange man in his quarters. Obviously he’s gotta bone down.
Relationships: Dan Phantom/Tord
Kudos: 17





	Play Destroy

Well. This is certainly unexpected. And not the good kind of unexpected either, though Tord can’t think of a single good instance of “unexpected” in the past four years. That word is never really attached to anything good when running an army. Especially not when it’s someone rummaging through his quarters—or well, they seem like a someone. 

Jesus Christ, is their head on fire? Is their skin green? Are they...floating?

He would pull a gun on this intruder to his personal space, but somehow? He doesn’t think it would help. He’s about to quietly make his exit and get backup when bright red eyes lock onto him. He barely has any time to squeak out a curse in his mother tongue before the door slams and locks behind him. Suddenly the being is way too close to his face and Tord is suddenly very aware of how small he is compared to them. It? Him? 

They tilt their head at him with this unreadable expression, towering over him. The part of Tord that remembers when he had time to watch movies is reminded of Michael Myers. Oh, he is deeply fucked, isn’t he. He’s not going to leave this encounter without a fight, or at all. Still, he makes eye contact, summoning all the defiance he can when they lean in close, one hand next to his head, the other on his chin, tilting it from side to side like they’re trying to get a read on him.

“Where am I?” Oh. Oh that voice is doing not great things to him. It’s soft and deep and calm, and when they speak it’s almost like they’re having a normal fucking conversation instead of them being found inside a heavily protected area of a top secret fortified military base in a barely hospitable part of Norway. 

Wait.

“What do you mean, ‘where am I?’” Maybe he shouldn’t be getting snippy with the person who looks like they could snap him in half even with his 200 plus pounds of muscle, but sue him. “You mean to tell me you didn’t  _ mean _ to get in here?”

The corners of their lips twitch. “Ghost Zone mishap. Now where. Am. I?” Tord feels the hand on his chin trail down to his throat, sharp nails—claws—nicking his skin, though they don’t squeeze. It’s a warning, Tord recognizes.

“The Red Army main base. Norway.”

“Mmm, Norway. Then this isn’t my dimension. I destroyed Norway last month.” 

“Wait, destroyed—?”

“Who are you? What is the Red Army?” 

Tord glares at them. “Why should I tell you? I don’t know who  _ you _ are.” 

They raise an eyebrow at that, then chuckle. Oh. Those are some sharp teeth. Tord can’t figure out if he should be nervous or turned on by that fact. He can’t help but laugh inwardly at that dilemma. A more morally upstanding citizen would probably be pissing their pants, not wondering if it’s acceptable to pop a boner when faced with...what? A demon? Some evil spirit? An extradimensional horror? 

Well, there would probably be more tentacles if it was the last one, he hopes. 

“You don’t comprehend the danger you’re in here, do you?” 

Tord sneers back into the mocking expression he’s faced with. “I do. I just do not give a shit, to be frank.” 

That’s a lie. He knows it is. But he’s not backing down. Call it stupidity, but this jackass can’t just waltz into his private quarters and refuse to give even their name.

Tord’s seriousness seems to register with them, though, and he feels a bit of superiority at the annoyance flashing in their eyes before they drawl out, “Daniel. My name is Daniel.”

“Odd name for a demon.” Tord’s brain and his mouth need a fucking filter, really, just a bare modicum of thought before this shit came out of his mouth would be nice—

Daniel laughs. “A demon? Not a new one, I'm afraid, but no, I’m nothing quite so clear cut. I’m closer to a ghost.”

“Bullshit. You don’t look like any ghost I’ve seen.” Not that he’d seen many, or any in fact. The most supernatural thing he’d seen in recent months was the yearly zombie outbreak, and that was far, far from the base. 

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on that though because the hand on his throat is squeezing and he’s chest to chest with this interloper now. He feels ice cold breath in his ear as Daniel practically purrs, “I assure you, I am very much  _ not _ bullshit. Now, who are  _ you _ ?”

“T-Tord. I’m—I’m the le—lea—leader—” Tord is wheezing out his words. There’s tiny trickles of blood running down his neck from where Daniel’s nails are digging into his flesh. Daniel pulls back to look him in the eye, and Tord does his best to maintain eye contact, but the edges of his vision are starting to get fuzzy. 

Daniel drops him to the ground. The rush of blood to his head and air in his lungs is exhilarating. It’s got this pleasant dizziness all around his head and...ah. There’s that boner. Nice to know he is definitely a fucked up piece of work. Any hope Tord has at maintaining some form of dignity is dashed when those damned eyes wander down to his crotch. The wicked smile that comes next, full of sharp teeth, only sends another rush of blood down to his dick. Fantastic. 

“Ohh, I see. You get off on this. You like being put in your place, hm? Some leader you are.” Daniel leans down and grabs his chin once more. “But y'know, you aren’t bad looking…I could give you what you want, if you’d like.”

Tord weighs his options. On the one hand, this guy is clearly dangerous, unstable, and ready to kill him in an instant should he give him a reason to. On the other hand, Tord is also dangerous, unstable, and he hasn’t been laid in a while. Plus, this guy will definitely not be gentle with him. He does not want gentle. He does not want kind and caring. 

He makes his decision. 

Tord levels a glare up at Daniel. “Well? Get on with it then. Ravish me.” His tone is mocking, but he hopes the intent is clear. It seems to be, because Dan seizes his hair and drags him over to the bed. Sharp nails nick his scalp. Tord’s eyes water when he’s lifted bodily and tossed onto the mattress. There’s barely any time for him to recover before Dan’s on him, smashing cold lips against Tord’s. The kiss can barely be called that—it’s more like a clashing of teeth and lips and tongue. Something sharp catches Tord’s lips and the taste of blood explodes across his taste buds.

Tord instinctively reaches up to grab at his partner’s hair, only to remember too late that it’s on fucking fire. He’s pleasantly surprised to note that it doesn’t burn. In fact, somehow he can actually feel hair. He’s gripping it hard, hard enough to cause Dan to hiss against his mouth. Consider it revenge. 

Tord can hear fabric tear and feels cool air against his skin. God, he’s glad he chose to wear the uniform turtleneck instead of the hoodie today. The heady kiss is broken and Tord feels his head spinning, crying out as sharp teeth pierce the flesh of his neck and shoulders and claws scratch down his back. It’s a flurry of activity, bleeding bites and nips trailing down his torso as Tord tries to get his dress pants off before he has to order  _ another _ replacement pair. Dan is having none of it and Tord watches as the shreds of fabric flutter to the floor. 

He’s not focused on the mental image of Paul and Pat’s annoyed faces for long though. There’s a tongue wrapping around his cock and it’s long and forked and touching all the right places. When that tongue is replaced by a mouth a thrill of adrenaline shoots through him. But Dan is careful, it seems, not to damage Tord’s dick, though he’s not above letting him know how close he is to getting it ripped off like something from one of Tord’s movies. 

It’s so good. The danger makes everything seem more sensitive. The sensation of that tongue skillfully and thoroughly working him over is heightened by the gentle little pokes of fangs he feels from time to time and the claws digging into his thighs hard and deep enough to draw blood. Pleasure and pain roll over him without much of a mental distinction between them. He feels blood pounding in his ears.

The adrenaline turns to panic, though, when he feels a hand moving down to his ass. “Wait—” he whimpers. He’s surprised when his partner does, sliding off his cock and looking him in the eye. It’s not concern on his face, but annoyance. Regardless, Tord has his attention. “Your claws are going to rip me apart if you put them in me. Let me do it.” 

Dan curls his lip in a sneer, but acquiesces. He leans back, and Tord’s heart leaps into his throat when he sees the bulging outline of what he’s going to have to deal with. That’s…huge. Tord estimates about ten inches, and he’s not even sure if that’s at full length or not. His mouth waters as he reaches over and digs around for lube in his bedside table. The fact that Dan is watching him so intently sends shivers down his spine as he slicks up his fingers. He eases them in and carefully works himself open. God, it’s been forever since he’s had to do this. 

He loses himself a bit, just taking pleasure in being in control of the situation for once. But it really isn’t enough. He’s shaky and riled up and he keeps thinking through every action he takes way too much. He wants to stop thinking. 

Dan seems to take control again, grabbing Tord’s wrist. “I think that’s good enough.” He purrs. The tight costume melts away, leaving unmarred expanses of cool green skin free for Tord’s hands to roam. He removes his hand and without warning he’s flipped onto his stomach and his hands are bound behind his back with…something. He doesn’t know what it is. Doesn’t have much time to dig up the ability to care when Dan slams into him without warning. 

It  _ burns _ . 

Dan keeps fucking into him at this brutal pace without giving him any time to adjust. Tord  _ loves _ it. The burn gives way to intense pleasure that has Tord groaning in delight. Dan scratches down Tord’s chest, sinking his teeth into the place where his neck meets his shoulder. Tord doesn’t think he’s come so fast in his life.

Daniel doesn’t stop, of course. That would be too easy on Tord. Instead he flips Tord so he’s on his side, leg hiked up on his shoulder, and keeps going, never once breaking his pace. It doesn’t take long before Tord’s member is gaining steam again. Tord is trying to call out anything, say anything, but all that comes out are incoherent noises and cries. Every nerve feels like it’s on fire, sweat stinging when it makes contacts the nicks and bites on his skin. 

There’s this particularly pathetic cry that comes out of him when Dan hits his prostate. His whole body tenses and, as awkward as the position is, he can see a dangerous looking grin split his partner’s face. He doesn’t have to ask what that means. The cock inside him aims for that spot over and over again. Tears prick at the corner of Tord’s eyes and he comes again.

He’s flipped on his back and then there are hands around his throat again. His head is spinning. His face and throat burn. He feels blood trickling down his neck and everything is fuzzy and far away. Just overwhelming waves of pleasure rolling over him as the world slowly fades in and out of view. There’s one final, intense burst, and Tord’s eyes roll back and he feels Dan finishing inside him as he goes limp. 

When he comes to, head throbbing,  _ everything _ aching, Dan is still there, dressed again, watching him. Tord’s out of it, but he’s reminded again of Michael Myers. There’s really nothing behind those eyes. 

He’s unsurprised when Dan sweeps out of the bed, cloak swirling behind him. “You’re a good lay, Tord. I’ll leave this world be for now.” That predatory smile is back, fangs flashing as he looks back at Tord. A green portal opens in front of him. “I’ll see you around.” And with a flash, he’s gone. 

Tord lays there, trying to get some breath in his aching lungs. He doesn’t remember his arms being unbound, but he supposed they must’ve been. There are what look like rope burns all along his forearms. He can’t imagine what hell he would look like if he looked in the mirror. Lazily, he rolls over, hissing when he lands on the scratches on his chest, and he reaches for the phone on his bedside table. 

“Paul? ‘M fine, great actually—could you just…could you and Patryck bring me a first aid kit? ‘N new sheets, too, if you could, these are…Kind of fucked.” That’s putting it mildly. He glances at the sheets, which are bloody and torn and stained with what’s probably his cum. “What? No, no, no hazmat team necessary, Christ, I’m in my quarters, Paul, listen—”

The conversation devolves into Tord trying to calm his Seconds down, reassuring them he’s fine. He’s pretty sure he won’t be able to walk tomorrow, but he leaves that out. They’ll figure that out later. He regrets nothing. 

**Author's Note:**

> I spent a week writing this dumb fucking thing. Anyway Dan Phantom is hot, evil, and I want him to raw my gay ass.


End file.
